


Switch

by soulless_lover



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: BDSM, Comedy, Corporal Punishment, Discipline, M/M, Oil, Oral Sex, Poor Sebastian, Shota, Switching, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:15:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulless_lover/pseuds/soulless_lover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“See, little one – it’s not so terrible,” Sebastian whispered against the shell of Ciel’s ear. “As painful as it is, when touched in just the right way, it’s quite nice, isn’t it?” Gooseflesh rose across the hot, striped skin as the devil caressed it, and the sensation was so intensely pleasurable that the boy cried out and went weak with bliss, and would have slid straight to the floor if Sebastian hadn’t held him up with his free arm. “Oh, yes… you like that, don’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>Merry Christmas - have some comedic, disjointed, candy-flavored smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Switch

**Author's Note:**

> ...i make absolutely no excuses for how bizarre this story is. there's comedy, there's smut, there's BDSM, there's _an entire paragraph_ describing Sebastian's bits, and then there's that whole candy-flavored thing... 
> 
> i have no idea at what point this fic got away from me, but it was fun to write.

“What in the world!?”

Sebastian ran into the kitchen and shut off the burner, the flame dying out quickly as he turned the small porcelain-handled valve; the copper kettle was burnt black, boiled dry from the looks of it, and was so hot that its mid-seam had melted here and there and solder was dripping off onto the stovetop in sparking green droplets.

He stood. He stared. Who would be foolish enough, irresponsible enough, _imbecilic enough_ to leave a kettle unattended over a high flame for so long? The stove could have caught fire! The whole kitchen could have caught fire! The entire _manor_ could have gone up in flames and burnt to the ground because of some addle-brained idiot who had left the kettle on! 

He wrapped a cloth around the wooden handle – also charred black – and lifted the vessel gingerly, snarling in disgust as a few still-liquefied bits of solder fell from the seam of the spout and onto the red enamel of the stovetop. He doubted the thing could be salvaged; it would be much easier to just buy a new kettle than to take it in to a repair shop and have it re-welded, and he didn’t much fancy scrubbing all the lampblack off the copper, either. In its present state it would almost certainly leak, and it was unlikely that the water made in such a damaged kettle would be safe for humans, given how much lead was in the soldering flux. Nearly shaking with fury, he tossed it into the sink, and the red-hot metal hissed and popped as it struck the tepid dishwater.

He was livid, so much so that he could hardly think properly; his demonic brain swam red with images of violence and bloodlust, the desire to destroy something – some _one_ – coursing through his veins like a viscous froth. Ohh, he was angry, and some offal-witted human was going to pay _dearly_ for it.

He turned on his heel and went straight to the kitchen door, flinging it open in the vast hope that his favorite cat might be sitting outside, waiting for him; but no, she was nowhere to be found, and the demon would get no comforting paw-pats to the chin, no sweet purrs in his ear, no furry, silken snuggles from his dear little friend that day. The thought that she might have smelled the burnt odor and run off in fear made him even angrier, and he would very much have liked to put his fist through the doorframe and split the wall clean in half – but he composed himself with no small amount of effort and turned back to the kitchen, leaving the door open to air the smell out.

He looked around the room carefully, collecting clues; he knew where every single object in the kitchen was and how it was positioned, so it was a simple enough task to deduce that someone had attempted to prepare a midmorning snack with tea to accompany it – three ginger-snap crème biscuits were missing from the glass jar of them on the kitchen island, the row of cup-and-saucer sets atop the mantel was absent one (a lovely green and yellow bone china with an iridescent white inner and fine raku glaze around the saucer edges), a tin of earl grey tea sat open on the counter, getting stale, and given the smattering of crumbs and drops of milk on the servants’ table, it was likely that the culprit had decided on a different beverage to go with his or her biscuits and had simply left the kettle or forgot about it.

Why, in the name of all that was unholy, _why_ had whomever it was not simply come to him and _asked_ for something to eat? Granted, he likely would have said no, given that high tea was still three-quarters of an hour away and the preparation of the young master’s lunch would take precedence afterwards… but still, they could have at least tried! Ugh, those insufferable, intolerable, absolutely _infuriating_ humans!

He stormed out into the garden in search of something to take his mind off the burning desire to rend the idiotic servants limb from limb, breathing so heavily through his nose that he half expected to see tendrils of smoke wafting up from his nostrils. He needed something calming, something tedious, something mindless and relaxing to do, and after surveying the area carefully, he finally strode up to a willow tree near the garden path and stopped in front of it.

Taking out his pocketknife, he selected a small, thin branch from a low-hanging bough and cut it off neatly at the joint; then, with great care and methodical precision, he began to shave off the bark, the few outcropping twigs and leaves here and there, and the tiny bumps and knots and imperfections in the wood, whittling the branch down into a supple, satisfying little work of art. He even added a few elaborately carved patterns onto the thicker end, nicking miniscule bits of wood away with a meticulous flick of the wrist. A short walk down the path brought him to the garden shed, where he procured a piece of sandpaper, and with that he made the branch as shiny and smooth as glass; he was quite proud of the results, despite the fact that he’d gotten a minor amount of sawdust on his uniform. As he brushed it away, feeling much calmer, a _wonderful_ idea came to him: the negligent human would have to be punished for such a serious transgression, and he now had the perfect disciplinary tool with which to do so.

He paused, considering. If Finnian were the culprit, he would likely break the switch before he did any damage to the youth’s impervious body, but the sting would certainly be felt; if it were Bard, Sebastian would have to whip him in the military style, across the back of the shoulders, as he was too old and too large to be whipped across the buttocks and thighs; if the wrongdoer turned out to be Mey-Rin, he would have to switch her across the palms, given that if he put her over a chair and lifted her skirts she would probably faint from joyous embarrassment and not feel a blasted thing; and if it were Tanaka… well, he would not strike Tanaka, no matter how much he deserved it. It was unlikely that he was the guilty party anyway, given that he had his own small Japanese-style teakettle, and would not have used the copper one to begin with.

Willow switch firmly in hand, he walked back into the house and began his search.

He found the bespectacled housemaid on her knees in the entry hall, scrubbing the ceramic floor tiles by the front door. “Mey-Rin?”

“M-Mister Sebastian!” She leapt to her feet, kicking over the bucket of water in her haste; he waited while she scrabbled about in red-faced desperation and righted it, knocking over the canister of Bar Keepers Friend as she did so. “Ahh! Oh, I’m sorry, I’m so clumsy, I am! I, er, ah…” She sagged in humiliation, twisting her hands in the front of her apron. “Yes?”

“Have you been in the kitchens recently?” he asked, ignoring her pathetically beseeching expression and the faint smell of desire rolling off of her. “More precisely, have you put the kettle on within the last hour or so?”

Her eyebrows shot up from behind her glinting lenses in surprise and confusion. “No, sir, I haven’t, not at all! Is something wrong?”

He gave her a pleasant smile and waved her concern away with a gloved hand. “Nothing you need to worry yourself over. Do continue your work.”

“Uh, yes, sir!” 

He turned away to walk off, then paused and looked over his shoulder at her. “Oh, and Mey-Rin?”

The maid visibly jumped, her blush deepening. “Yes, Mister Sebastian?”

“You missed a bit.”

She whirled around, and sure enough, there was a line of muddy boot-prints crossing the entry hall and out the front door. How she could have missed them was a mystery to no one but herself, given how dark and heavy the tracks were against the white tile. “Ahh! I’m so terribly sorry, I am!” She scurried over to them and began scrubbing frantically at them with the brush, forgetting the bucket and cleaner on the floor behind her in the rush to please the handsome butler smiling down at her so benevolently. My, but he looked so distractingly nice when he did that! What a pleasant person! “I’ll have it cleaned in a jiffy, I will!”

Sebastian smothered the urge to wring her fool neck and followed the filthy tracks out the door, being careful not to soil his impeccably shined shoes by stepping in the muddy prints as he did so. “Good. See that you do.” Walking out into the front courtyard, he left her flailing behind him, the scent of her flustered arousal drifting after him like a lingering perfume.

The boot-prints led him straight to Finnian, who was in the midst of digging a new flowerbed around the fountain in the center of the courtyard; the little Irishman was liberally covered in mud, from his soil-caked boots all the way up to his sun-rosy, grime-smudged face. “Finny.”

The youth jumped, turning in alarm as if readying for a fight, then visibly relaxed when he saw who was addressing him. “Oh! Mister Sebastian!” He beamed a blindingly bright smile at the demon, the freckles on the apples of his cheeks nearly imperceptible under all the dirt. “Isn’t it a beautiful day?”

Sebastian sighed, never quite sure how to respond to the gardener’s incessant cheeriness. “Yes, quite.” After a beat, he added, “You are positively filthy. How on earth did you manage to get more mud on yourself than the amount that came out of the ground?”

Finnian laughed, a bit sheepishly. “I didn’t notice.”

Didn’t notice? _Didn’t notice_? How the hell could anyone not notice they were so coated with muck? It defied logic. “Yes, well, you should take more notice of such things, especially when you enter the manor – Mey-Rin has quite a job for herself, cleaning your muddy footprints from the foyer.”

Finnian gasped, looking horrified. “Oh no! I didn’t mean to cause trouble! I’ll go and help her right away!” He started to set his shovel aside, but Sebastian stopped him.

“No, stay and finish your job first. If she is still at it when you’ve completed this assignment, then you may assist her.”

The youth snapped his arms down to his sides and stood up very straight, like a soldier standing at attention. “Yes, sir!”

Given how dirty Finnian was, it was unlikely he’d been in the kitchen any time recently, since the floor and fixtures in said room had been thankfully mud-free… but, the butler figured, _anything_ was possible, with these servants. “Finny, have you put the kettle on at all today? Say, within the last hour or so?”

Finnian’s stance relaxed and he blinked in curious confusion. “The kettle? No sir, I’ve been out here since just after breakfast. I only went inside once, to… uh…” He blushed, though the only way Sebastian could tell this was that the fair-skinned young man’s ears – which were somehow clean – turned bright red. “…I needed to use the water-closet,” he finished in a near-whisper.

The devil nodded shortly. Humans and their irrational shame of bodily functions – he didn’t think he’d ever grasp such a ridiculous concept, and he didn’t want to. “Fine. Thank you for your hard work. Keep it up.” 

Finnian gave him another insanely cheery grin and picked up his shovel again. “Yes, Mister Sebastian, sir! I will!”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “And I expect you to rinse every possible bit of mud from your person at the water-pump in the servants’ courtyard before you even consider setting one foot in the house.”

And despite the prospect of bathing under likely ice-cold pump water, the gardener only grinned more widely and snapped off a clumsy salute. “Yes, sir!”

Sebastian turned and headed back to the house, heaving a rather ungraceful sigh and suddenly feeling every one of his many, many years.

At breakfast, he’d given Bard a list of things to bring in from the larder and storehouse to be used in the preparation of that evening’s dinner, so he supposed he’d best look for the man in those locations; heading past Mey-Rin (who was still madly working away in the entry hall), he went below-stairs and through the kitchens to the little hallway that led into the larder. Sure enough, the would-be chef was standing in the middle of the room, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lip, a precariously balanced armload of foodstuffs hanging over his broad shoulders and thick arms. “Bard.”

“Wah!” Bard jumped, somehow managing to not dump everything all over the floor. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Sebastian! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“My apologies, I’m sure.” Sebastian struggled not to stare at the various smears of food staining the chef’s white sleeves; surely it couldn’t be hygienic to throw a quarter-side of beef over one’s shoulder like that – and ugh, that smudge of butter near his collar was going to be difficult for Mey-Rin to launder out. For the first time in a very long while, he found himself feeling a begrudging respect for the overworked housemaid and all the nonsense she tolerated from the males in the house. “Have you acquired all the ingredients I requested?”

“Sure, all except” – he checked the list with one semi-free hand – “the eggs.” He flashed a lopsided grin around the cigarette. “Haven’t really got room for those just now.”

“So I see. You do know you could make more than one trip.”

“What for? It’s faster to do it all at once.”

Sebastian rubbed his brow with the fingertips of one hand, wondering if it were possible for a demon to get a tension headache. “Unless you drop something and have to make a return trip to replace it.”

“Pssh. I’d just pick it up and brush it off. No sense wasting it when the dirt’ll just get cooked off anyway.”

“Bard, please tell me you’ve never, _ever_ done such a repulsive thing.”

“Nah, not yet. Say, is there something you want?” He raised a sandy eyebrow at Sebastian, his unshaven face crinkling up in something like reproval. “This stuff is kind of heavy, you know.” 

The harried butler decided it wasn’t worth the energy to remind the thick-headed human that his burden wouldn’t be nearly so heavy if he weren’t trying to carry so much and instead said, “Have you put the kettle on for tea since breakfast, by chance?”

“What? No.” An upward quirk of his stubbled lip preceded his addition of, “I’ve been out here for over an hour trying to gather up the stuff on this absurdly long list of yours – what makes you think I’d have time for tea?”

As irritating as he found Bard’s tone, Sebastian had to admit he admired the brash American’s spirit, though it galled him to think of it. “Very well, I’ll leave you to it, then – and once you’ve brought everything to the kitchen, change into fresh clothing and wash your hands. I won’t have dinner being contaminated by germs.”

“Okay, okay, don’t worry your finicky head about it, it’s under control.”

Swallowing a very impolite retort, Sebastian turned back to the door. “Good.”

“Hey, Sebastian?”

He paused. “Yes?”

“What’s with the switch?” Bard gestured with an elbow in the general direction of the carved willow branch the demon still carried.

“Nothing, as of yet.” Sebastian aimed a sparkling, acidic smile at the chef. “Don’t worry your overly inquisitive head about it.” With that, he stalked out of the larder and down the hall, leaving Bard staring after him in uncomfortable silence.

A glance at his pocket-watch informed Sebastian that he now had only twenty minutes left to prepare high tea for the servants, and then he would have to start immediately on his young master’s lunch; as refined and adult as the Earl strove to appear, he was still a child, and as such had a child’s demanding nature and ruthless expectations. The devil well knew how impatient his little lord could become, especially when hungry, so he decided the best course of action would be to go straight to the study and inquire if the boy had any specific requests for his lunch, and _then_ start on the preparations for the servants’ meal.

He made his way upstairs, steadfastly refusing to acknowledge the soaking-wet gardener on his knees in the front hall dripping water all over the floor he and the maid were scrubbing, and headed for the study.

“Young Master?” He rapped lightly on the door, and upon receiving no answer, opened it as unobtrusively as possible, keeping his head lowered in a deferential bow. “Pardon me for interrupting your work, my lord – I came to inquire if there was anything in particular you would like for lu—“ He raised his eyes, caught sight of the young Earl, and the rest of the sentence died in his throat.

Ciel was sitting in the enormous velvet-upholstered chair that was far too large for him, fast asleep, his head resting on one hand; the documents he’d supposedly been reviewing were laying mostly untouched and unsigned on the desk in front of him; and beside the papers was an empty green-and-yellow teacup, atop a saucer sprinkled with biscuit crumbs and one incriminating, half-eaten ginger-snap, the crème licked out of the middle.

Sebastian had found his guilty party.

After checking his pocket-watch again, he slipped out of the room silently, then went to the front hall, where he approached Mey-Rin and Finnian; they leapt to their feet when they saw him walking towards them with an ominous glint in his eyes and a willow switch in one hand, their expressions apprehensive.

“Finny, Mey-Rin.”

“Yes, Mister Sebastian, sir?” they responded, almost in unison, with equally matching tremors in their voices.

“I am afraid high tea will be a bit late today, so if you do not wish to wait, please feel free to prepare sandwiches with the cold meat in the icebox and the rye bread I baked last night.”

The maid and the gardener exchanged a look, and then Finnian ventured cautiously: “Is… is something wrong, Mister Sebastian?”

What was with these meddlesome humans and their questions? “Don’t concern yourself with it – finish your work here, and then go below-stairs, if you please.”

The demon’s tone, though polite, brooked absolutely no refusal, and the servants quickly nodded. “Of course, Mister Sebastian, sir!” Mey-Rin said, still nodding vigorously. “We’ll finish up quickly and get right on to high tea, we will!” 

Without another word, Sebastian went back up the stairs and returned to the study, rolling the carved handle of the switch between his fingers; upon opening the door, he saw the scene again, exactly as before: the sleeping boy, the evidence of his sugar-sweet crimes laid out before him, the faint scent of ginger hanging in the air. He locked the door behind him, then stood and admired the pretty tableau with sadistic relish, stroking the smooth surface of the willow switch as he would caress a lover’s skin.

He strode across the room and slapped the top of the desk with the switch, and the loud _thwack_ it made as it struck the stack of papers directly in front of Ciel made the boy jump, jolting him awake in a horribly abrupt manner. “Young Master, please wake up this instant!”

Ciel blinked, trying to get his bearings. Sebastian didn’t shout at him very often – the butler hardly shouted at all, in fact – so it didn’t take long for him to discern that there was something very important that required his immediate attention. “Sebastian…? What—“ He stopped the moment he saw the switch. “Er…”

“Young Master,” Sebastian nearly crooned, his quiet, honeyed voice far more alarming than his shouting, “you seem to have had a snack this morning.”

Ciel blinked again, his gaze falling on the dishes in front of him. “Yes, what of it?”

The demon processed the words and the impudent tone thoroughly, fondling the switch in an almost obscene fashion, watching the little Earl’s wary expression with great enjoyment. “Did you perhaps… _forget_ something, my lord?”

The boy’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Forget? I—“ He suddenly broke off, and his eyes widened. “The kettle!”

“Yes, the _kettle_ ,” Sebastian responded, his smile slowly creeping towards an evil leer. “It was in quite a sorry state by the time I discovered it.”

The look of impending panic melted away, and Ciel relaxed against the backrest of the chair, looking relieved. “Oh, good, you took care of it already.”

“A good thing, too – it was boiled dry and the solder was melted, on the verge of catching fire.” He leaned across the desk, his glowing gaze never leaving the boy’s face. “It could have been disastrous.”

Ciel waved a dismissive hand and picked up a sheaf of documents, with which he cut off the eye contact by pretending to read them. “You wouldn’t have allowed anything terrible to have happened, anyway – stop being so overdramatic.”

Sebastian snatched the pages from the Earl’s hand, a bit more forcefully than he intended – but the shocked look he got in return made his momentary lapse of self-control worth it. “Young Master, that is entirely beside the point, and you well know it.”

Ciel’s visible eye rolled with disdain. “Fine, we’ll buy a new one. We’ll buy _two_. It’s a _kettle_ , Sebastian, calm down. Even if the mansion had burned to the ground, you could have simply rebuilt it – it’s not as though you haven’t done so before.”

“You do not seem to understand the severity of the situation, Young Master.”

“I’m sure you’re going to explain it to me, though.”

The devil’s grip on the switch tightened ever so slightly. “You do realize, of course, that the contract requires that I protect only you, correct? If the mansion were to burn down, the rest of the household staff could be killed – do you mean to say you would be fine with that?”

“Of course not,” Ciel answered in a scornful tone meant to hide his dismayed realization, but the demon saw through it easily. “Don’t you have something else to do besides dream up morbid, catastrophic scenarios?”

“Yes, actually – but before that, may I ask what suddenly possessed you to try your hand at preparing your own snacks?”

“Oh,” the little Earl said, almost offhandedly, “I knew if I told you to make something, you’d refuse since it’s so close to lunch, so I just cobbled something together myself.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “You knew I would tell you no, and yet you went about it anyway?” 

The boy huffed with irritation and leaned his chin on his hand. “Are you angry, Sebastian? Are you going to lecture me now?”

The devil’s thin lips parted in a fiendish smile that showed the tips of his sharp teeth. “No, Young Master – I’m going to punish you.”

Ciel’s eyes widened almost comically; his mouth fell open in horror, the flippant words having flown from him like startled birds; and as Sebastian rounded the desk, the boy’s sense of self-preservation kicked in: he leapt from the chair and ran for the door as fast as his thin little colt-legs would carry him.

The demon caught him effortlessly, trapping the Earl against the locked door with his looming form. “You will not leave this room until you have been properly disciplined, Young Master. If you cooperate, it will be over much more quickly.”

Ciel swallowed hard, mentally rifling through a series of possible escape plans. Running away was out of the question – Sebastian was much faster than he, and would catch him up in a trice. Could he talk his way out of it? One glance at the devil’s unflinching expression and gleaming garnet eyes told him that strategy was useless, too. He supposed he could try to charm the demon to distraction with _other_ applications of his mouth… but it was obvious from the sadistic smirk Sebastian was wearing that the only pleasure he craved at the moment was Ciel’s pain. Resigned to his fate, he lifted his chin proudly and said with great dignity: “Very well, Sebastian. If you are determined to whip me, then I suppose I have no choice, given that you would easily overpower me should I try to escape.” 

The demon blinked in surprise at the unexpected surrender.

“However, you will have to tell me what stance and such like to adopt, as I have never been switched in my entire life.” The boy’s jaw was set and his gaze was focused straight ahead, on a point somewhere beyond the window on the opposite wall – but Sebastian could hear the quickening of his heartbeat, could smell the trepidation rolling off of him. 

“All right then, please go to the desk and put your hands on it.” Ciel did as he was told, but instead of bending over the desk, he stood very stiffly beside it, his spine perfectly straight, his posture haughty. “Move back two steps without moving your hands, if you would, please.” 

The boy complied, and found himself bent forward at the waist with his butt sticking out in a most undignified way. “This is rather uncomfortable,” he informed his butler in as lordly a tone as he could manage in his current position.

“It will be more so before we’re finished.” Sebastian set the switch down on the desk directly in front of Ciel, giving him a nice clear view of it, then reached down to unbutton the boy’s short-trousers.

“Wait, what—“

“A lightweight switch like this would hardly be effective if applied through clothing. Though it may be a bit inelegant, please bear with it for a little while.” The garment fell to the floor, pooling at Ciel’s feet, and just as the boy was adjusting to the odd notion of being bent over his own desk with his short-trousers around his ankles, Sebastian reached under him again and began untying the ribbon at the waist of his muslin drawers. “Even material this thin would reduce the efficacy of the teaching implement, so it must be done away with as well, I’m afraid.”

Ciel stood very still, attempting to mediate his breaths into calm, slow measures of air as the light undergarment slipped down his legs; despite the fact that Sebastian had seen him completely naked many times, something about the situation and the pose he was in made him feel self-conscious and ashamed of his partial nudity, and although he tried very hard to ignore it, he could feel a hot blush creeping into his face and ears.

Sebastian took off his tailcoat and gloves and neatly laid them aside, then took his time rolling up his sleeves, savoring the boy’s obvious embarrassment and discomfort. “Normally, I would administer ten strokes, considering the gravity of the offense and the light weight of a rod this size, but as you’ve never been switched, I shall be lenient and administer only nine.”

The Earl bit back a rather scathing retort concerning the “leniency” of reducing the number of strokes by _one_ , and struggled to look anywhere except at the beautifully carved and very painful-looking willow switch in front of him. _Get on with it, you ruthless bastard!_

After what seemed like forever to Ciel, the demon’s black-nailed hand reached out and wrapped around the ornate handle of the “teaching implement”, then drew it slowly across the desk with rather more showmanship than the boy considered truly necessary. “Keep your legs together, and do not move,” Sebastian instructed, from somewhere behind Ciel’s left shoulder. “I would not like my aim to be inaccurate.”

“I won’t,” Ciel answered, bravely managing to keep the waver out of his voice. He did _not_ add, _I’d wager fifty pounds that every single blow would land exactly where you wished it to even if I were dancing a jig on horseback_ – but he certainly felt like doing so.

The demon allowed himself a moment to appreciate the sight of his imperious little master bent over, his porcelain skin even more fair and lovely against the dark backdrop of the mahogany desk; the boy’s small body was indeed perfectly still, without even the slightest quiver of fear; and despite the humiliating circumstances, the little Earl still bore a distinctively aristocratic air that made Sebastian smile. _Oh, Young Master,_ he thought, _what vain, foolish, beautiful pride._

The switch cut through the air with a slight whistle, the first stroke landing across the lower curve of Ciel’s buttocks; it hurt terribly, and despite his efforts to show no reaction, the boy yelped and his body jerked reflexively. Just as the shock was wearing off, the butler said:

“Count.”

Ciel blinked, trying to make sense of the statement. Count? Count what? He was an earl, not a count, and he couldn’t understand why Sebastian would say such a thing at a time like that. “What?”

“That was stroke number one. Count them off as they are delivered, so that you may be certain the correct number of them is administered – and so that neither of us lose count.”

“I… what?” It seemed a bizarre request, especially since he knew his exacting butler would never lose count of anything so important.

“Is this a difficult concept to grasp? Shall I start over from one, so that you may have a bit of practice?” Ciel could practically _hear_ the evil smile in the devil’s voice.

“No! I understand.” Gritting his teeth, Ciel muttered, “One.”

Another blow, this one catching him across the upper thighs. “Louder, if you please.”

Ciel gasped, the searing pain like lightning across his skin. “Two!” _Seven more,_ he thought. _I can withstand seven._

“Very good.” Another, burning a hot streak across the place where his buttocks met his thighs.

“Ouch! Three!”

Another. “Louder, please, Young Master.”

“Hnn!” The pain was awful, stinging and hot. “Four!”

“You are still not speaking loudly enough; I may lose count if I cannot hear you.” Another.

“Ahh!” Ciel inhaled sharply, endeavoring to find enough air to make his voice more strident. _”Five!”_

“That’s better.” Yet another, making Ciel’s body jerk again.

 _”OW! Six!”_ He was beginning to tremble, leaning more heavily on his arms than before, his breath coming in short, quick puffs through his nose. _Three more. Only three more. This is nothing._

Sebastian paused. “I know this is difficult, Young Master, but you’re doing very well – do try to regulate your breathing a bit, or you may become lightheaded and faint.”

“I’m fine, Sebastian.” Ciel’s voice was strong and clear, if a bit breathless. “Just… finish it.”

The demon smiled. “Very well. I shall administer the final three in quick succession, then. It _will_ be quite painful, but I assume this is a price you’re willing to pay to end the punishment sooner? You will of course still need to count them aloud.”

The little Earl took a steadying breath and braced himself against the desk more solidly. “Do it.”

The switch whistled through the air three times, laying down three rapid strokes, one right after the other; although they were not in exactly the same place, the lack of recovery time made it feel that way, the raw, blazing pain slicing through Ciel’s self-control in merciless stripes.

“Seven, eight, _nine_!!” The boy’s knees finally gave out on him and he slumped over the desk, gasping for air in great, shuddering breaths that wracked his body, his brow pressed against the wood…

…And suddenly Sebastian was there, leaning his elbow on the desk, the opposite hand stroking Ciel’s back very, very gently. “There now, it is finished, Young Master – you did very well.” His face was very close, his voice like velvet in the boy’s ear. “Shhh, slow your breathing… that’s it… you withstood the punishment marvelously, my lord – I am quite proud of you… shhh, yes, that’s it… there’s a good boy…”

Ciel did as the devil suggested, and as he regained control of his lungs, the white-hot agony slowly faded into a stinging throb; Sebastian’s warm cinnamon-and-clove scent surrounded him with comforting sweetness; that soft, deep voice was so intimate, so calming; a strange feeling he did not understand welled up in him, and although he was certain he should hate his butler for causing him so much pain, he found himself reaching out with his trembling left hand to hook his smallest finger over Sebastian’s thumb.

The hand on Ciel’s back drifted upward to pet his hair, lightly massaging his nape with careful fingertips. “Shhh, there now, it’s all right,” the demon soothed in a serene, reassuring tone, his breath warm on the boy’s face. “It’s all right…”

Ciel turned his head to the side and found himself looking at his own hand as it clung to Sebastian’s; his fingers seemed so tiny against the devil’s, fragile and delicate, the knuckles white; as he turned his head further, his cheek grazed the demon’s mouth; and then Sebastian was dropping soft, feather-light kisses across his cheekbone, his temple, his brow. “Sebastian,” he whispered, leaning his face into those warm, consoling lips that fluttered across his skin like butterflies. “Sebastian…”

“Yes, my little lord,” the devil answered, his voice almost tender. “I am here.”

Ciel turned over slowly and wrapped his arms around Sebastian’s neck for support, the edge of the desk pressing into the hollow of his back; the demon untied his eyepatch and let it fall away; those soft kisses fell like snowflakes over his cheeks, his nose, his chin, his eyelids; and just as the boy was beginning to think about how odd the situation was, Sebastian’s mouth met his, and suddenly he didn’t care whether it was odd or not.

He moaned against Sebastian’s lips and the demon’s tongue slipped into his mouth, wet and sweet, tasting of cinnamon tea-biscuits and warm summer rain; despite the burning pain Ciel still felt, he could think of nothing but the kiss, how it felt, how nice Sebastian smelled, how silken that glossy black hair was in his shaking hands, how it slid between his fingers like streams of ink.

Sebastian broke the kiss, and at first the Earl was disappointed – but then the devil’s mouth began to work its way down the side of his neck, licking the perspiration from his skin, and Ciel was mewling, melting, lost. He didn’t understand why he was clinging so shamefully to the heartless monster who had just whipped him, he didn’t understand why the ring of that monster’s arms suddenly seemed the safest, most secure place in the world, and no matter how hard he tried, he could _not_ understand why the sensation of that monster’s fingertips trailing gently over his sore, stinging buttocks felt so _good_.

“See, little one – it’s not so terrible,” Sebastian whispered against the shell of Ciel’s ear. “As painful as it is, when touched in just the right way, it’s quite nice, isn’t it?” Gooseflesh rose across the hot, striped skin as the devil caressed it, and the sensation was so intensely pleasurable that the boy cried out and went weak with bliss, and would have slid straight to the floor if Sebastian hadn’t held him up with his free arm. “Oh, yes… you like that, don’t you?”

“Both,” Ciel panted, clutching the butler’s shirt in his fists to anchor himself. “Do… do both…”

“Both, Young Master?” Sebastian stroked the crimson welts with great care, eliciting a delightful shiver and a kittenish moan from the little Earl.

“Use… ohhhh… use both hands…”

It took only a moment for the devil to figure out what he was being told to do, and he couldn’t help drawing back to look at his master’s expression as he murmured, “Ah, I see – you wish me to touch _both_ your buttocks this way, correct?”

Ciel blushed, exactly as expected, which Sebastian was quite glad to see – the boy had gone quite pale with shock during the switching, and the dutiful butler was relieved when the color rose up again in that alluring, childlike face. “Don’t just… _say it_ like that!” The retort was meant to be scolding and imperious, but it was hardly more than a fierce whisper, much to the Earl’s chagrin, and his blush deepened.

Sebastian walked over to the desk chair and sat down with Ciel straddling his lap, the thin little legs folded, the bony knees tucked into the space between Sebastian’s hips and the chair’s arms; he kept his thighs well apart so the Earl’s injured backside would not have to come into contact with anything, which was a much appreciated gesture. He unbuttoned the boy’s coat and removed it, and would have folded it and put it on the desk had Ciel not snatched it from his hand and tossed it aside – a clear command to get on with it, and be quick about it. “Oh dear,” he sighed in mock dismay, making hasty work of the rest of his young master’s clothing. “Already so impatient again, after such a thorough switching? Perhaps I should not have been so lenient.”

Naked, Ciel leaned forward onto Sebastian’s chest, resting his head on the demon’s shoulder. “We obviously have different views on the definition of the word,” he muttered, shifting his weight a bit to try and find a more comfortable position. “I shan’t be able to sit properly for a week.”

“I do hope you’re not complaining, Young Master,” Sebastian teased, “I would not like to have to put you over my knee so soon after a punishment.”

The horrified squeak he got in response was satisfying indeed. “You wouldn’t!”

The demon chuckled. “No, I wouldn’t. It was but a joke, my lord.”

“It was a very poor one,” Ciel replied, and although Sebastian couldn’t see his face, it was clear from the boy’s tone that he was sulking.

“My apologies.” The devil stroked Ciel’s back with his fingertips, up and down that lean, narrow torso, and when he trailed his black fingernails very lightly over the skin, the boy shivered all over and gooseflesh rose across the surface of his body.

Before Ciel could even process this amazing new sensation, those deft fingertips were tracing intricate, tickling patterns over his behind, and he relaxed against Sebastian, moaning into the side of that long white neck. “Oh… ohhhhh…” One of his hands found the butler’s upper sleeve and clutched it, his entire body thrumming. “Ohhhh, Sebastian…”

“How does it feel, Young Master?” Sebastian whispered, cherishing the way the boy melted at his touch, the way he moaned his bestowed name, the way he rolled his hips in helpless ecstasy, his cock hardening against Sebastian’s trousers. “Please, tell me.”

“Ahh… it feels… it’s… I—I can’t…” 

The demon’s long, talented fingers fanned out and dropped lower, then traced one long, continuous stroke upward, from Ciel’s welted upper thighs… to the back of his scrotum… over his tingling buttocks, one finger sliding along the cleft between them… and all the way up his trembling spine to the nape of his neck. 

The boy clung to his butler and cried out, the sound almost a sob against Sebastian’s collarbone. “Ahh… _Sebastian_!”

Sebastian took a small vial of almond oil from his waistcoat-pocket and tipped it over Ciel’s back, the golden liquid running down the boy’s spine in glittering streams that caught the light from the window; cradling the back of Ciel’s head with one hand, he used the other to rub the oil over the Earl’s hyper-sensitive skin. “How does it feel?” he asked again, bowing his head to kiss the fair, scrawny shoulder that was quivering near his jaw. “Tell me.”

“I—I can’t—oh—Sebastian—I can’t, I’m—“

The devil was a merciless being, whether the torment involved pain or pleasure – so when he slid one oiled, slippery finger between Ciel’s buttocks and pushed it gently into him, he did not give the boy a moment’s respite before asking again, in a voice that could melt butter: “Please, tell me – how does it _feel_ , my little lord?”

Ciel shuddered and came, spattering Sebastian’s waistcoat and trousers with droplets that clung like iridescent pearls, and the broken wail that tore its way from his throat was so very much like a sob that the demon had to look to be certain the boy wasn’t crying.

“Well,” Sebastian couldn’t resist saying with a chuckle, “I suppose there’s my answer.”

To his surprise, Ciel said nothing – no clever rebuttal, no scandalized admonishment, no hissed command to shut up; he only clung tighter and lay there, breathing hard.

“Young Master?”

After a long pause, the boy finally whispered: “……Again.”

Sebastian blinked, caught off guard but not exactly surprised by the command. “Again, Young Master?”

Ciel raised his head from the demon’s shoulder; leaning so close that his lips brushed Sebastian’s ear, he murmured, “I want more… Do it again, Sebastian.”

The devil smiled. _Greedy little thing._ “Yes, my lord.”

He slid his oiled hand back down to Ciel’s buttocks, and to his great delight the boy raised his hips, rather like a cat asking to be petted; taking this as an invitation to skip the pleasantries, he pushed his middle finger into the Earl’s slick, willing entrance, and got a delicious moan in reply; Ciel twined his fingers in Sebastian’s hair and pulled him closer for a kiss, the luscious bittersweet flavor of the boy distinctly tantalizing and _there_ , despite the ginger and sugar and sweet cream layered over it.

Ciel’s hands began to wander, caressing Sebastian’s neck, his shoulders; they slid down over his chest, his ribs, and across his abdomen; and then those warm little fingers were kneading the front of his trousers, feeling out the contours of the demon’s obvious erection. Breaking the kiss, the Earl pressed his brow to his butler’s and said with a mischievous chuckle, “You’re already hard.”

“How could I not be in such a state, with the wonderfully stirring show you just gave me?” Sebastian slid a second finger in, oil dripping from his hand. “My, but you are breathtaking when you are so helpless, whether it is from pleasure or pain.”

Bristling, Ciel gave the hard ridge in his hand a rough squeeze. “And what do _you_ look like when you are helpless, Sebastian?” 

The demon’s eyes began to glow faintly, like embers in a forgotten hearth. “I wouldn’t know,” he replied, pushing both fingers as deeply as he could. 

Ciel buried his face in Sebastian’s chest, raising his hips still higher, rocking against the devil’s hand, his cock swelling again in anticipation. “Sebastian!”

“Yes?” the demon said, noting with no small amount of pride that the boy had already relaxed so much that Sebastian could easily fuck him with more than just his fingers, if Ciel weren’t already sore from other things. 

“Stop!”

Sebastian froze, his hand stilling immediately. “…My lord?”

“Did you not hear? I said stop. Remove your hand from me at once.”

The demon did as commanded, though he was highly confused. “Have I done something to displease you?”

Ciel climbed down from Sebastian’s lap, his injuries making the process an awkward and clumsy one; he knelt on the carpet, right between the butler’s feet; his hands slid up the inseam of those perfectly creased trousers; and before Sebastian quite knew what was happening, the boy was mouthing him through the cloth, those lovely pink lips kissing and pushing until the demon was so hard his trousers strained at the buttons. “Young Master…” He reached down to stroke Ciel’s hair - and his hand was slapped away. 

“You may not touch me until I give you permission,” the little Earl informed him sternly, and the sight of those wide, mismatched eyes glaring up at him over the aching bulge in his trousers was enough to make Sebastian’s cock twitch and stiffen still further. By Hell, if there was one thing the devil never tired of, it was watching that child-faced little dollymop play the tyrant while kneeling at his feet totally nude and flushed with desire, the contract seal burning like a beacon. “Do you understand, demon?”

“Yes, Young Master.” 

“Keep your hands on the armrests, and do _not_ move them until I tell you to, understand? Not one inch! That’s an order!”

“Yes, my lord,” Sebastian intoned, his eyes glowing.

Without further ado, Ciel set about pulling the butler’s trousers open, silently cursing himself for not having done so _before_ making him so hard, because it was rather a hassle trying to work buttons through buttonholes strained into uncooperative slits. He knew Sebastian was watching him struggle and was probably enjoying every second of his frustration, too – so with a final, spiteful yank, he pulled with everything he had and just popped the damn buttons off, and good riddance to them!

Sebastian was about to comment on how he’d have to sew all those buttons back on if he ever intended to leave the room without scandalizing the rest of the household… but then Ciel pulled him free of the cloth and the boy’s eyes lit up like a child being handed a Christmas gift, and Sebastian decided the task of repairing his clothes was a very small price to pay for such a sight.

As many times as Ciel had seen the demon’s shaft and held it in his hands, he had never quite gotten used to how _big_ it was; granted, he didn’t have much for comparison, just some unimpressive drawings in his anatomy books and some hazy, unpleasant memories he didn’t care to recall – but bloody hell, the thing was huge! Fully erect, it was easily a good eight or nine inches long from root to tip, and so thick in the middle that he had to use both hands to completely encircle it; it was the same greyish marble-white as the rest of Sebastian’s body, the head tinged with a pale bluish-rose color, slightly darker than the demon’s lips; short, wiry black hair that was as glossy and straight as that on Sebastian’s scalp surrounded the base and also covered the testicles hanging underneath, which were were large and heavy, well-proportioned to the rest; but the little Earl’s favorite thing about the devil’s cock (all right, _second_ favorite, if he were honest with himself, because how it felt inside him was truly the best thing about it) was the way it throbbed and pulsed when he touched it with his hands or mouth, the way it dripped salty-sweet fluid from the tiny slit in the tip when Sebastian was thoroughly aroused… and the _taste_ of it…!

Wrapping both hands around the length, Ciel licked the underside of the head, worrying the frenulum with the very tip of his tongue; when he heard Sebastian groan softly, he switched tactics, running his open mouth up and down the shaft, sucking lightly, as if he were enjoying a dripping ice lolly; and finally, when that slippery fluid began to leak from the tip, Ciel closed his mouth over the head and circled it with his tongue, eagerly licking away every drop.

Sebastian’s hands tightened on the armrests, the wood under the upholstery creaking ominously. “Ah… Young Master…”

Ciel looked up, his mouth full. “Hmmm?”

The demon flinched, and had to mentally remind himself that the chair could _not_ withstand the force of his full-strength grip. “You’ve gotten quite good at this, haven’t you?” Oh, he had – the Earl of Phantomhive was a marvelously fast learner, and had quickly memorized all the things Sebastian liked best, the places he was most sensitive, the little tricks that broke down his self-control most effectively… and he put his knowledge into practice with the same impish glee he exhibited during challenging games.

Ciel took as much of the length into his mouth as he could – though given its size, he couldn’t manage very much. This didn’t really matter, however, because he knew what _truly_ drove Sebastian absolutely mad: looking up at the demon without pausing in his task, he watched that handsome face, watched his expressions change, watched the glow of those crimson eyes go from warm embers to blazing hellfire – and when Sebastian’s breath began to hitch in his chest, the boy withdrew until he was just barely touching the dripping tip in a lewd kiss. “Yes, I have.” He licked the salty-sweetness from his lips, his gaze never leaving the devil’s face. 

“Young Master…”

“What?” Ciel’s hands began to slide up and down Sebastian’s shaft, his fingers intertwined, squeezing gently, the velvety skin slick with saliva.

“If you continue doing that…” A sharp intake of breath as the boy put his mouth over the very tip, sucking at the little slit. “Ah… if… what shall I…?”

Ciel gave him a wicked smile, every bit as ruthless and unrelenting as his butler’s. “Show me, Sebastian,” he purred in the dulcet tones of a wanton schoolboy, “Show me what you look like when you’re helpless.”

And when that cruel, lovely mouth surrounded him again, hot and wet and teasing, Sebastian came, trembling with the effort it took to not destroy the chair as he did so; his climax was so powerful that he felt it in every part of his body; and because his master had told him to, he allowed himself a moment of complete and total helplessness: he let his eyes drift shut with a soft moan, his head fell back to bare his white throat, and he spilled into Ciel’s waiting mouth in a shattering pulsar of ecstasy.

The first spurt hit the back of Ciel’s throat and he almost coughed, but then there was a second, and a third, and a fourth, and a fifth… On and on it went, nearly filling the boy’s small mouth; it was much thicker than the other stuff he was used to, and had a much stronger flavor – but to his great surprise, he found he quite liked it. It was as rich and sweet as hot cocoa made with milk, tasting mostly of cinnamon and clove but with a spicy undertone like that of gingerbread, the delightful cold of a peppermint stick, and a hint of the bitterness of dark chocolate – and what else could he possibly do but swallow it?

Sebastian opened his eyes and looked down to see his little tyrant licking him clean, looking rather as though he were enjoying the experience quite a bit. “Young Master?”

Ciel released him somewhat reluctantly and stood, and for some reason, the burning pain across his backside had all but vanished; for one bizarre and perverse second, he found he was actually disappointed – and then he came to his senses, realized how incredibly ridiculous and nonsensical that was, and immediately dismissed the thought. “Well,” he said to the demon watching him with inquisitive eyes, “I asked what you look like when you’re helpless… and I suppose there’s my answer.”

Sebastian chuckled.

The Earl climbed up onto Sebastian’s lap again and settled in the same position he had been in before, his head on the devil’s shoulder, his hands resting just above the black sleeve garters encircling his biceps. There was a pause, and then Ciel sat back in hurt confusion, wondering why he hadn’t been embraced – was Sebastian cross with him, or…?

Then he saw the demon’s smile of amusement and he remembered. 

“You may touch me now if you wish, Sebastian,” he announced in a magnanimous tone he hoped sounded casual.

Still smiling, the butler reached up with one hand and wiped a small bead of semen from one corner of the boy’s mouth with his thumb.

When Ciel realized what it was, he blushed – and then he caught Sebastian’s wrist in both hands and held him still as he licked the sweet droplet, savoring the luscious flavor as it melted away on his tongue.

Sebastian’s smile widened. “Shall I take that as a compliment, my lord?”

The Earl’s lip quirked upward. “You may take it however you like, so long as I can have more of it again soon.”

The demon laughed. “Of course.”

“Good.”

“Shall I go and prepare your lunch now, Young Master? After I’ve repaired my trousers, that is.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Ciel replied, settling against Sebastian’s chest again. “I’m rather full, actually.”

The devil wrapped his arms around his little contractor. “You’re rather _spoilt_.”

The boy pressed his brow against the side of Sebastian’s neck, curling into the warmth of his embrace. “ _You’re_ rather impudent.”

After a moment, Sebastian said, very seriously: “Young Master, you will never, ever touch the stove again. If you are hungry, you are to summon me and tell me so. Am I quite clear on this?”

Ciel huffed indignantly, but when the butler’s hand slid down and pressed against the not-quite-healed welts on his behind, he let out a hiss of pain and muttered, “Yes, quite.”

“Good.”

“Tch.”

“What is it?”

“It’s absurd, you know – _you_ , giving _me_ orders.”

“Indeed.” A heartbeat later, Sebastian added, “Quite the switch, wouldn’t you say?”

Ciel made a rather ungraceful snorting sound. “Quite.”

 

END.


End file.
